Fucking A Loaded Gun
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Liz Moore's first day with Dean Ambrose did not go well at all. Poor judgment leads to an intolerable act of cruelty, cementing Liz's hatred for Ambrose. On the verge of walking away, what will stop her? Rated M: Language, sex
1. Chapter 1

"I will admit to being disappointed, Lizzy," Ambrose said out of the blue.

He had dragged me out to a bar after I'd pounced on Heyman. My adrenaline was still up, and I was beyond livid.

I didn't say anything. I merely stared at him. After a moment, I took a hearty swallow of the beer in front of me. Ten minutes in the bar, and I would need a new one in another three or so.

"You're not at all curious as to why I'm disappointed?" He finally asked.

"I could not give a flying fuck," I replied, hearing the clipped tone in my voice as I finished my beer. My three-minute estimate was a bit generous. I immediately went to the bar and ordered another one. The bartender scrambled. It really must have been blatantly obvious that I was in a mood.

I gave him a generous tip. It wasn't his fault.

I sat back down, and Ambrose's next words caught my full attention.

"You came too fast."

I looked up at him. "What?"

"You came too fast," he repeated as if speaking to a mentally-deficient person. "This afternoon. It didn't at all live up to my expectations. I really thought you would be difficult."

"What can I say," I replied, drinking more of my beer. Halfway gone already. Dean sure was a great conversationalist. "I'm just a girl who comes easily. Too bad."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. I have my own theories. First is that you want me. You have the same desires I do – pure, animal lust. When we do finally fuck, it'll be explosive each and every time. Second, and my favorite for the winner, is that you haven't gotten laid in a long time. The first time, you'll blow in a matter of minutes. But after that, I'll have the challenge I wanted on my hands. Which is it, Lizzy?"

I stared at him. He stared back, leaning forward and tilting his head. I began scrambling for a response. Ten months – ten months? Really? – wasn't that long. I sure in hell didn't want Ambrose the way he hoped.

I leaned forward. "Did you happen to think that maybe I just wanted to get it over with?"

"Then why didn't you try to fake it?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh please, when does _that_ ever work?" I laughed, trying very hard not to think of my last boyfriend…who it worked on a little too well. Ten months with no sex preceded by two years of bad sex? Maybe I _was_ pent up.

He reached over and began lightly stroking my forearm with the tips of his fingers. After a few moments, he stood and went to the bar. He came back with two fresh beers and sat directly beside me, putting his hand high on my thigh.

I attempted to ignore him and continued to drink. "Lizzy," he said gently in my ear, his fingers stroking my neck.

"What?"

"What's your favorite position?"

"GM of Raw," I replied, unamused.

"I have you pegged for a doggy-style girl. Something about you just says 'screamer,' and I'd bet you bite the mattress to keep yourself quiet."

I turned my head to give him a look. He was grinning. "Would you like to try that with me tonight?" His hand slid up to my crotch and began lightly rubbing.

I didn't notice his other hand until it lightly pinched my nipple – which was, of course, hard. I was pent up. Fucking hell.

He chuckled. "Let me take you home. Let's get those first few easy ones over with. And then the fun can really begin."

I took another drink. I'd never let him know this, but I seriously considered it in that moment. Maybe it would satisfy him enough to not parade me out in front of the crowd again to humiliate me. Maybe it would take the knots of tension out of my shoulders. And if we happened to keep fucking for the whole month instead of just for tonight? Well, then, fuck it. This month didn't count. I was writing it off.

He bent forward and stuck his tongue in my ear. "Come on, Lizzy," he said, taking my hand and guiding it to his crotch beneath the table. He was already hard. "I want you," he murmured in my ear, dotting my neck and jawline with soft kisses.

That might have been the only thing keeping me from his bed that night. He wanted me. And I was _so_ not inclined to give him what he wanted.

I turned my head and gave him the most passionate kiss I could muster, lightly squeezing his dick through his pants. He returned my kiss, matching the intensity, and I felt him get even harder beneath my hand. After ten solid seconds, I bit down hard on his lip and clamped my hand closed on his balls.

He pulled away angrily.

"Still want me, baby?" I asked seductively.

"You had better thank your lucky fucking stars that we're in public," he growled, "or I would knock your teeth down your fucking throat."

"What's stopping you, Dean?" I asked sweetly.

"I'm not getting arrested because of you. I won't give you the satisfaction of a night without me, sweetheart," he sneered. "But you're gonna pay for that tonight when I get you home."

I felt a small thrill of fear run down my back. I shouldn't have pushed him. I should have thought of the fucking consequences.

That was my problem lately – I wasn't thinking ahead. I was reacting to what was thrown at me instead of actively molding the future the way I wanted it to be.

That's how I knew I was drinking too fast. I was starting to sound like a goddamn self-help guru in my own mind.

"Look out, Tony Robbins," I muttered.

"What the fuck did you say?" He snapped. I'd put him in a foul mood. Well good.

"Nothing. Just a funny thought I had. Inside joke with myself."

"You're fucking drunk," he said, disgusted.

I pursed my lips, considering his statement. "My lips are numb," I replied, taking another gulp of my beer. "Tongue still seems to work though," I said after I swallowed. "Maybe I'm just half-drunk." I turned to look at him through my hair. I pulled a fat curl over my upper lip. "I have a mustache. …Ok, I'm drunk."

"I'm still incredibly displeased with you, Elizabeth," he said sternly. "Don't think being cute will mitigate my displeasure."

"Dean, I am simply too drunk to give a fuck," I replied proudly. "I may need to spend the rest of the month like this."

He stared at me for a few moments, warring emotions on his face. "Finish your beer," he finally said. "Then I'm taking you home."


	2. Chapter 2

The cab ride back to the hotel was silent. I felt the tension in Ambrose and knew I should be worried about what was in store for me. But the alcohol had truly dulled my senses to the point of being indifferent.

He took my hand and guided me to our room, where he undressed me nearly completely before throwing me one of his t-shirts. I looked at him curiously, but put it on anyway. It came down to mid-thigh on me.

He stripped down to his boxers and turned down the bed. "Come on, Elizabeth," he said, holding the covers open for me.

I slid into the bed, more confused than concerned. He lay down beside me on his back and pulled me to him, resting my head on his chest.

"I'm still pissed off," he said gently, stroking my hair. "You're still going to experience the results of your actions this evening. But doing it while you're drunk won't have the effect I'm hoping for. So for tonight only, you get a pass."

I surprised both of us by wrapping my arm around his torso and throwing my leg over his. I tended to be quite affection when I'd had a bit too much to drink, but with Ambrose? Good God. Of course, it's easy to question my own drunken judgment when I'm sober.

"Tell me the truth, Lizzy," he said softly, still stroking my hair. "How long has it been?"

I hesitated a moment. "Ten months," I replied.

He gave a low whistle. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"Broke up with my boyfriend. Didn't feel like dealing with anyone else's shit. Had plenty of batteries," I ticked off.

We were quiet for a few moments, Ambrose lightly stroking my shoulder with his thumb. "Why did you break up with your boyfriend?" He finally asked. It wasn't the question I'd been expecting.

I thought about it for a few moments. "We wanted different things, I suppose. I wanted a career. He wanted to fuck the brunette waitress at his favorite lunch spot. Our ambitions weren't in line with a long-term relationship."

He snorted. "You have the most delicate way of phrasing things." He paused. "So he cheated, then?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. He's the only one who knows for sure."

"Was it a good relationship?"

"I suppose. It was a typical healthy adult relationship."

"And what would that be like?"

I glanced up at him to see if he was being serious. He was. I remembered who I was talking to – the idea of healthy, adult relationships truly was foreign to him. "We communicated well. Talked through our conflicts instead of screaming through them. We had mutual friends and threw boring dinner parties. We talked about buying houses and the benefits of having two bathrooms instead of just one. We spoke often, but rarely said anything important. We were bored to tears and stayed together because it seemed like the thing to do." I was amazed to hear all this come out of my mouth. "Maybe it wasn't a healthy relationship, then. But that's easy to say now."

"How was your sex life?" Here was the question I'd been expecting.

"Serviceable. Nothing special. Infrequent towards the end."

"What kind of man was he? Was he your type?"

"He was a good man," I said slowly. "He was intelligent and kind. He had a very dry sense of humor…. Why are you asking me all this?"

He shrugged. "Because I can. It's in our contract, remember?"

"Doesn't exactly seem like it'd be very interesting to you."

"Oh, but it is. It's highly interesting to me. Tell me about the type of man you're usually attracted to."

"Tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed boys who can play the guitar or drums. Tattoos and piercings don't hurt. He needs to be intelligent and adventurous, and he needs to think that I'm hilarious. I want someone who has similar interests and will indulge me in my nerdy pastimes."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Hm."

It wasn't much of a response.

"So it's been ten months since you got laid. How long has it been since you slept with a man just holding you?"

I blinked back surprise. "Uh, a bit longer. Things weren't so great towards the end. Maybe…eleven months? Twelve?"

"A year? Elizabeth, even I've slept clutching a woman tightly in that timeframe. And I usually throw them out after I'm done with them."

"You're just so fucking charming," I said, shaking my head. "It's really an absolute mystery as to why you don't have a steady girl in your life."

"I do," he said, grasping my chin and bringing my face up to his. "I have you." He kissed me then, softly and sweetly. He pulled away before planting another soft kiss on my lips.

"Dean," I said tiredly, "I'm drunk. I'm concerned about what you're going to do to me in the morning. This is not the time."

"Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy," he murmured, kissing me again. "This is the perfect time. You have your one-time pass tonight. I'm going to be sweet to you. Wouldn't you rather have it that way than me taking you when I'm angry?"

I contemplated his words for a moment. "I…I don't know," I admitted.


	3. Chapter 3

He seemed to take my hesitance as a yes. He kissed me again, his hands finding their way into the shirt I was wearing. "Kiss me," he murmured, his hands grasping my breasts. I did. I kissed him gently at first, my hands roaming through his hair, and gradually it became more intense.

He pulled away and buried his face in my neck, kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin. He began tugging at my shirt, eventually tugging it off and throwing it onto the floor. His mouth migrated and I sighed happily while his tongue scraped against my nipples.

Realizing in that moment that we were indeed going to be heading down this road, I reached down and began lightly teasing his cock with my fingers. Impatiently, he slid out of his boxers and let me touch him skin-to-skin, his breath ragged in my ear.

"Are you going to let me do this tonight?" He asked. "If you aren't, stop now – before it's too late."

I took his hand and guided it down into my panties, where I was already wet. The moment he felt that, he slid away from me. "Take those off," he said, climbing up to his knees and positioning himself on the bed. He tore at my panties, helping me take them off.

I hooked my legs around his hips. I felt him rubbing through my incredibly wet lips, and I groaned and shivered as the head of his erection bumped against my sensitive clitoris. He went to thrust into me, and I stopped him briefly.

"Dean," I said quietly, "just…please be gentle. It's…it's been a little bit, and you're pretty big."

An arrogant little grin found its way to his lips, and he bent down to kiss me. "I won't hurt you, Lizzy," he said softly.

Suddenly, he was inside of me. He inhaled sharply as he slid all the way in, and I involuntarily bucked my hips against him.

"Oh, don't do that yet," he groaned. "You're so much tighter than I thought you'd be. I need a minute."

Laughing, I gently stroked my hands over his chest. It had been a long time since I'd had my hands on a man. I'd almost forgotten the feeling of it.

He was watching my hands before lightly reaching down to pluck one off of his chest and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it.

"Are you ready?" I asked quietly, surprisingly eager.

He slid back and pushed forward again, and I groaned quietly. There really was nothing that could quite compare to the way that felt – vibrating plastic simply wasn't a great substitute, when it boiled right down to it.

We worked into a rhythm relatively quickly, a sweet back-and-forth that made the mattress squeak and the headboard clank against the wall. Dean reached in between our bodies to stroke my clit, which brought me increasingly closer to orgasm.

I clenched my eyes shut, moaning softly.

"Look at me," Dean said, his voice barely intelligible. "Look at me, Lizzy." I wrenched my eyes open, and he smiled down at me. I'd never seen him look more…normal.

He sped up his thrusting and his fingers, and just as I started to let go I felt him do the same. "Keep your eyes open," he gasped. "Keep looking at me."

Watching the haze of pleasure fall over his eyes only made it that much more intense for me. I felt my body come up off the bed, my eyes still locked on his.

It seemed to last forever, wave after wave of pleasure radiating out. Dean didn't stop immediately when he was finished, but kept thrusting gently, his mouth on my neck, my breasts, my face.

Finally, slowly, he slid away from me and lay down beside me, pulling my body into his.

He didn't say anything. He lightly kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms around me tightly. I actually didn't mind the sheen of sweat that covered him.

"Give me fifteen minutes," he said in a low voice, his breath still coming in soft little pants, "and I'll be ready to go again."

He wasn't lying.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up the next morning hung-over and sore.

I tried to piece together the sore bit when I quite literally slammed into the realization of what happened.

Ambrose was still out, lying beside me and snoring softly. The other bed hadn't been slept in. And we were both naked.

My hand flew up to my mouth. No.

I had fragments of memories, and I could see scratches running down Dean's back. Well, at least I'd enjoyed it in the moment.

My head pounding, I got out of bed as quickly as I could and made my way to the bathroom. Further evidence that I'd made a huge fucking mistake ran down my leg, and I wanted to puke.

Instead, I started the shower. I scrubbed myself with the hottest water I could, trying to scald away the evidence and the memories that came back with increasing speed.

"It's like a sauna in here," Ambrose's gruff voice said conversationally. The curtain slid open and he stepped into the shower. I paused in the middle of my third shampoo while he pressed his body against mine, kissing my shoulder.

"Christ, why is the water so hot?" He leaned forward and spun the knob to make it a more manageable temperature.

I very slowly rinsed my hair while he watched me shrewdly, his suspicion written all over his face.

"You do remember last night?"

"Bits and pieces," I admitted.

The right corner of his lip turned up briefly, and he put his hands on my hips. "We had a lovely chat, Lizzy. Then I fucked you six ways from Sunday. I think the final count was four times, in every position imaginable." He paused. "You did like doggy the best."

I ran my hands over my forehead, trying to rub away the headache that now seemed to be booming behind my temples. "Probably because I didn't have to look at you that way," I replied.

He laughed. "You're a bitch when you're hung-over." He began soaping up his chest, and I looked away.

"Scrub my back for me, will you? I don't want those scratches to get infected." He gave me a small smirk, and I obliged him. I had to.

He turned and kissed me when I was done. "What do you say? Want to make it five?" He asked, lightly stroking his fingers over my collarbone. "I think I have just enough left in me for one more."

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "No, I think I'm done."

He grinned. "Whatever you say, Elizabeth." He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me intensely. "Go get me some breakfast."


	5. Chapter 5

I was waiting all day for my supposed punishment from the night before. It never came.

Ambrose seemed to be in a cheerful mood for once. I hid behind sunglasses and slowly sipped water, waiting for my headache to subside so I could try to reason my way through these events.

The reason, of course, was that I'd been drunk. And he'd reminded me of just how lonely my life on the road had been. I'd shut myself away after my last relationship. It would have been all right to do for a short while, but the length that it had gone on had left me vulnerable to a man like Ambrose – and that was certainly no good.

I was still mulling these thoughts over, very slowly, as we made our way to the arena for the show. Ambrose sent me off on some errand, and when I finally made my way back to Heyman's office, they were all gathered there…huddled around Ambrose's laptop. I glanced their way suspiciously before I heard my own voice come out of the speakers.

"Dean, just…please be gentle. It's…it's been a little bit, and you're pretty big."

Ambrose turned and grinned at me.

I dropped the bag of whatever it was he'd had me get, feeling sick. "You didn't," I said, backing towards the door.

He took two steps towards me, arms crossed over his chest. "I told you that you'd suffer the consequences of your actions, Elizabeth. I just never expected you to actually hand me such an opportunity on a silver platter."

Tears were coming to my eyes. I was horrified. I glanced over his shoulder to see Heyman watching intently. Punk grinned at me, waggling his eyebrows before his eyes returned to the screen. Rollins looked embarrassed, staring at his feet. Reigns stared at the ceiling, refusing to look in our direction. Lesnar was nowhere to be found.

And right in front of me, Dean Ambrose. Smiling.

"I hate you," I said in a low voice.

He pursed his lips. "You weren't saying that last night."

I wanted to raise my hand and hit him, but he seemed to know that. "Go ahead, Lizzy," he said quietly, taking my hand in his and bringing it up to his face. "You go right ahead and slap me. You see what happens when you do."

I closed my eyes, a few tears spilling onto my cheeks. He took a single finger and lightly traced one of the trails back up to my eye. The sounds of our previous night rang out into the room, and I opened my eyes, wrenching my hand away from him.

Staring at me unabashedly, he brought the finger with my tears up to his mouth and licked the moisture off.

It was an odd breaking point for me. I shook my head. "Nope," I said. "No more."

I turned around and walked out.

I was mortified; I was angry.

And there was no way I would ever forget this.


	6. Chapter 6

"Liz," a voice said behind me as I walked at top speed, trying to find a place to silently lose my mind.

I whipped around, expecting Ambrose. I would have hit him this time.

Instead, I encountered Seth Rollins, holding his hands up like he was trying to defend himself against getting his ass kicked. A split second later, I realized that I had my fist up. I slowly lowered it, trying to calm myself.

"What is it, Rollins?"

He exhaled, staring at me. "I'm really sorry."

That caught me off guard.

"What do you have to be sorry about?"

"I'm just…" he shuffled his feet. "I'm sorry about Dean. I'm sorry about the whole situation. You don't seem half bad, and I really wish you didn't have to deal with him."

I laughed bitterly. "You and me both." I paused. "Why are you telling me this?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just…I just really felt bad about what just happened. Nobody deserves to walk into that."

I stared at him, trying to gauge his level of sincerity. He seemed to be genuine, but in my current emotional state it was tough to tell, truthfully.

"Thanks," I said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I want to get out of here before Ambrose finds me."

Seth nodded. "I never saw you."

I nodded back and turned to continue on my way.

After about fifteen minutes of speed walking through the arena, I found an out of the way bathroom and ducked into it.

I cried for a solid ten minutes. I was angry. I was frustrated. And a very small part of me was hurt. I'd had a private, intimate moment with a man for the first time in ten months…and he'd decided to record and broadcast it for his friends.

I knew that trusting Ambrose wasn't a great idea, but what I'd expected was some common human fucking decency. That had been a tragic mistake on my part.

I bled all of those emotions out. I tried to make myself go numb. I needed to think, and thinking about this situation with emotions clouding my judgment would only bring me more trouble down the line.

What was done was done. I couldn't get it back. I couldn't un-fuck Ambrose, and I couldn't make him not act like a douchebag.

I needed a new plan.

My phone started buzzing in my pocket. It was a number I didn't recognize. I contemplated for a few seconds before I hit the ignore button and let it go to voicemail. After that, I had the presence of mind to turn the phone to completely silent.

In another ten minutes, I heard footsteps in the hallway outside. "Lizzy?" Knuckles rapped lightly on the door. "Are you hiding in there?"

I froze. I didn't want to move or breathe, or make any sign that I was actually in here. The doorknob rattled, but I'd locked it on my way in. I was so far off the beaten path that I figured anyone would assume it was just locked down for the night.

I heard a soft sigh, and then very faintly numbers dialing. My phone lit up with the same unfamiliar number as before.

A few tense moments passed before the call went to voicemail. Satisfying himself that I wasn't here, I heard his footsteps retreating.

I waited at least fifteen minutes to make sure he wasn't coming back. My phone rang twice more while I waited, terrified. Finally, immediately after the second call, I plucked up my courage and made a run for it.

I didn't stop until I was out of the arena, wildly hailing a taxi.


	7. Chapter 7

I went back to the hotel I was sharing with Ambrose. I picked up my luggage from the room, dropped my key onto the desk, and immediately went downstairs to book another room.

The lady at the counter was confused, but sympathetic.

"Fight with your boyfriend?" She asked.

I managed to smile. "It always seems to happen when we're out of town with no couch to send him to," I replied wearily.

"Well, I hope you guys work it out. You're a pretty cute couple."

"Thanks," I replied, trying hard not to reach across the counter and strangle her. It wasn't her fault. "If he asks, could you tell him I'm not here? I just really need a night to stop fighting and get some sleep."

"Sure thing," she replied. "I know how that goes."

She handed me my new room keys and off I went. I settled onto the bed, noting that I'd missed another three phone calls from Ambrose.

I undressed and curled up in bed, throwing the blankets over my head. I just wanted the night to be over.

Miserable tears falling down my cheeks again, I eventually slept.

I woke up in the early hours of the morning, feeling a bit more level-headed.

There was simply no way I could spend a month with that man. Things had escalated so quickly, and it genuinely made me fear for my safety. I'd have to call Legal later today and see what my options were. In the meantime, I'd find a flight back home, to Stamford. The touring schedule wouldn't give the boys a break until later next week. It'd be plenty of time to figure out how to get out of the contract with minimal damage.

And if Ambrose came for me, well…I'd deal with it then.

I reached for my phone, intending to look up flights. I wanted to be on the first plane back home.

I had fifteen missed calls and four text messages.

The fifteen calls were from Ambrose. He never left a message. One of the text messages was from a different number:

'Liz, it's Seth Rollins. He's looking for you and he's pissed.'

The rest were from the he that was pissed:

'Lizzy, where did you go? Quit hiding like a little bitch.'

'Elizabeth. I'm not at all amused.'

'For fuck's sake, woman. This isn't funny. This isn't cute. Get your fucking ass out here now, before I make you wish you were never born.'

Even as I held the phone in my hand to read these messages, another phone call came in. Five in the morning and he was still at it.

I let the call go to voicemail. I checked the flights headed towards home. Settling on an 11:25, I made my way into the shower.

I came out feeling more awake, more resolved, and incredibly relieved.

I got dressed and started packing up. I wanted to get to the airport around 9, so I'd have to call for a taxi around 8:30 – that left me a few hours to kill.

My phone rang twice more during that time. Ambrose. I debated turning it off, but decided to let things go. He could call all he wanted; I wouldn't be answering.

Finally, I went to pick up the room phone to call the desk and ask for a taxi. My phone started ringing again. I glanced down, expecting Ambrose, and did a double-take.

The caller ID stated Vince McMahon.

I put the phone down. Swallowing hard, I picked up.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Moore, I trust I haven't woken you?"

"No, sir. What can I do for you this morning?"

"I've received several calls from Mr. Heyman and Mr. Ambrose inquiring about your whereabouts last night and this morning. I feel it imperative that I tell you that you must abide by the stipulations set forth in your contract."

My heart sank. "Yes, sir."

"Once this is all over, Ms. Moore, we will find a position for you within the WWE family. In fact, I believe we may be looking for a new GM on the Smackdown brand. You are the front-runner for that position. But until this business blows over, you need to stick it out with Mr. Ambrose. Be the woman I know you to be and nut up. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. Abundantly. I'll rectify the situation immediately."

"Good. See that you do."

The line went dead.

I could be a GM again. I wouldn't have to deal with Ambrose on Smackdown. I could get back to the business I adored. I just had to be tough for another twenty-seven days.

I could do that.

The next time Ambrose called, I picked up.

The string of obscenities was magnificent.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you, once again, for reading, reviewing, favoriting, messaging, and showing all manner of appreciation for this series. The next part has been posted under the title "Gave Me Your Heart of Rusty Nails; Now You Ask Why it Impales." I hope you enjoy!


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